Three Days Gone
by thisislandgirl
Summary: The cold hand of fear wrapped around his heart, icy tendrils bruising and squeezing the bloody flesh until he thought he would choke on it. Gasping, he hauled himself upright, breathing ragged, eyes watering with pain. Spoilers for AHBL 1&2, death!fic
1. Chapter 1

**Three Days Gone**

**Fandom: **Supernatural

**Characters:** Sam(-centric), Dean, Mary, John

**Rating: PG-13**

**Warning:** **Spoilers** for AHBL 1 & 2, character death

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the Winchesters, just borrowing them for the time being.

**Summary: **The cold hand of fear wrapped around his heart, icy tendrils bruising and squeezing the bloody flesh until he thought he would choke on it. Gasping, he hauled himself upright, breathing ragged, eyes watering with pain.

* * *

**THREE DAYS GONE**

* * *

It starts and ends with a brief flash of color and light behind his eyes and a burning pain that quickly faded into the darkest black of oblivion. And for a while he knew nothing, felt nothing, thought nothing. He was nothing.

Then slowly, bit by bit, it came crawling back. It started with a warmth that spread from his toes all the way up to the top of his head. Soothing sounds of birds chirping and whispering voices. Bits of color speckled the inside of his eyelids, floating and drifting about. He felt his body slowly relax into the soft cushion and enjoy the alien yet completely welcomed feelings of being safe. Of being home.

But his reprieve was short lived as a blinding pain bit into his back, making him gasp. His eyes flew open, searching the unfamiliar scene for a spot of comfort. Why was he in so much pain? He wanted to move, to get up and figure out exactly where he was, but the simple act of craning his neck to the side caused a five alarm fire to race up and down his spine. Getting up was most certainly out of the question.

_Dean._ It hit him out of the blue, like a lightning strike to a lone tree. Cold Oaks. The Yellow-Eyed demon and his band of 'special kids'. Ava's betrayal, Andy's death, the evil look in Jake's eye as he landed the first punch. And then Dean was there, running towards him, screaming his name in terror then … nothing.

The cold hand of fear wrapped around his heart, icy tendrils bruising and squeezing the bloody flesh until he thought he would choke on it. Gasping, he hauled himself upright, breathing ragged, eyes watering with pain.

"Dean!" He fisted a hand and held it to his lips as he squeezed his eyes closed tightly in an attempt to control the pain. Counting backwards just like dad had taught them, breathing through it. Why wasn't Dean here with him, helping him, comforting him? He could feel himself slowly controlling the pain, the white hotness of it dimming at the edges. "Dean," he whispered through a sob.

"Easy there, kiddo." Warm, familiar hands gently rubbed his shoulders as a voice whispered gently in his ear. The pain faded another degree as one of the hands cupped the side of his face; the other gently squeezed the back of his neck the way his …

"Easy, Sammy."

Sam snapped his head up and found himself staring into the warm eyes of his father. A lump formed in his throat, cutting off any reply he had. His father, his dead father, was standing before him. He shook his head, pressed a hand to his eyes, trying to gain clarity on the situation. But when he opened his eyes, his father was still there, kneeling in front of him with a sad smile gracing his lips.

"Hey there, kiddo. How ya doin'?" The soft, gentle voice crashed over him and Sam felt relief vying with confusion deep within his chest. "Just relax and breathe."

Sam shook his head and tried to pull away. He only ended up leaning in closer to his father's warm embrace. A shiver wracked his form but he didn't fight his father any more. He couldn't deny the comfort it brought, how the pain was ebbing away, fading faster and faster with each passing moment.

There were questions running on a continuous loop through his mind. Like where were they? The room, though it seemed like it should be familiar, was foreign to him with its white-washed trim, its overstuffed white furniture, and the pale blue wallpaper with big, pink roses. And how was his father here, kneeling in front of him, his flesh pink with life, when Sam knew for a fact that his father was dead. He had salted the body vigorously while Dean added the lighter fluid and tossed on the match. And where was Dean? Why wasn't he here taking care of Sam? How had he gotten hurt in the first place?

As the questions ran through his mind again, Sam found his lips working overtime to keep up. The words tumbled out incoherently, beginning and ending with hitching sobs that he found himself unable to control. Everything was reeling out of control too fast and he couldn't catch up.

"Sam. Focus." His father's slightly sharp voice brought him back in a snap. He took a shuddering breath, fighting down the panic and fear and confusion as his father's thumbs wiped away the few tears that had escaped. When he seemed to have some semblance of control over his emotions once again, his father slid his hands down Sam's arms, giving them a firm squeeze. "Try again."

"What – where are we? How are you here? What is going on?" The words rushed out before he could stop them, but at least they were more coherent this time.

His father gave him a small smile as he answered, "We're home." When Sam made no response, John tried again. "We are at the house in Lawrence, Sam. We're _home_." He spread his arms out for emphasis.

And then Sam did look, saw the pictures of a happy family in front of a house he recognized, scattered books and newspapers and finger-paintings, baby toys and soft sports balls. He didn't know how he recognized it now, but he did. And he felt … safe. Comfortable. Loved.

"But that's impossible. Someone else lives here. And you're …" and that's where he trailed off. He couldn't bring himself to say the word even if he had said it hundreds of times before in his head.

"Yeah, Sam. I'm dead." His father said it so casually, like it wasn't a strange occurrence that he was sitting here with Sam, chatting it up when he should be in Hell. He was about to point that fact out when another voice came from behind him.

"So am I, Sam." A smile formed on his father's lips as he stood up and took someone's hand. He watched dumbfounded as his mother glided over to his father's side, her arm hooking around his waist as he wrapped and arm around her shoulders. She looked deep into his eyes, a sad smile on her face.

"What- How is this possible?" Sam could feel his hands shaking again, but it wasn't from pain; his back barely bothered him now. It was fear he realized belatedly. He found himself searching for an escape even as they sat down on the couch next to him, flanking him.

"You know Sam. You know what happened, you know where we are. You have all the answers, you're just afraid to look." Her voice was soft, her palm warm as she held his hand between hers, her eyes torn between happiness and sorrow.

"Am I …" he couldn't finish, couldn't bring himself to accept it. But there was no other explanation for how he was sitting in a house he never knew, but felt like he'd been here his whole life. How he was sitting flanked between his two dead parents and having them embrace him with warm flesh and soft hands and sad eyes. How the worst pain he'd ever felt his life was now nothing more than a twinge, his last memories fading only a might bit slower. He swallowed thickly, "Am I dead?"

"Yes, sweetie." His mother brushed a sweet, gentle kiss to his temple as his father squeezed his knee comfortingly.

Only it wasn't a comfort. It fueled the fire deep within him. He jumped off the couch, hands fisted in his hair as he paced back and forth across the carpet. "No. I can't be. Dean needs me!" Placating words were spoken in his direction but Sam never heard them as his panic rose. "We aren't done yet. We have so much work to do. The demon. We didn't get the demon. Dean will be so reckless without me, he's gonna get himself hurt without me there."

"Sam, Dean hunted without you for nearly four years. He's got a level head on his shoulders. He'll be okay." John slowly stood up from the couch, and cautiously approached his near raging son.

"No! You don't understand!" Sam yelled as he turned on his father, arms thrown out wide. "You don't understand! You weren't there. You left us! It was just me and Dean, against the world. He can't- he won't- He isn't good at research, he'll never find a good hunt let alone what he's hunting." Sam turned back away from his father, mostly muttering under his breath as he continued his pacing.

"We were running low on rock salt. He never called Bobby about the run-in with the Jinn. I stashed a hundred dollars between the Impala's seats for an emergency, he's not gonna know where it is!" Sam turned back towards his father, the carpet showing the path as he moved forward once again. "He's not good with the Latin in the exorcisms, he stumbles over the ending. He's gonna think I killed those people! I never got him his stupid pie." He ended in a whisper as two hands grabbed his arms.

"Sam." Slowly Sam picked his head up and stared blankly into his father's eyes. "He'll be okay, Sam. He's strong. He knows what he is doing." There was something that closely resembled conviction in his father's eyes as he spoke. He'd probably had the same conversation with himself before he had made his deal, Sam realized. Had he done enough to prepare his boys, had he taught them everything, showed them everything? Was he ready to say good-bye to them?

Shakily, Sam nodded his head before he dropped it onto his father's shoulder in defeat. His father's arms closed around him as he felt his mother's hand rub soothing circles between his shoulders. Dean's face was staring back at him from behind his closed eyelids, eyes alight with terror as he screamed Sam's name. He just hoped Dean would understand that it wasn't his fault. It had been Sam's mistake, only Dean had to pay for it.

He let out a deep sigh as the last of the pain faded away, and along with it those last terrifying moments of his life on Earth.

"So, if I'm dead, where am I?" Sam was reclined back on the couch, leaning into his mother's side, soaking up the warmth and love he'd been missing for over twenty years. His father was sitting on his other side, feet propped up on the coffee table, leaning back in the semblance of relaxation.

"You're in limbo, Sam." At his father's answer, Sam snapped his head up and stared at his father in curiosity.

"Limbo? But you're …"

"Supposed to be in hell? I was, Sam. But your powers pulled me here, pulled _us_ here." John cast a knowing look to Mary, a small imperceptible nod and she was picking up the conversation.

"Your father was in hell, just like I was in heaven. Then when you died, your powers summoned us here, to your limbo, so we could help you cross over." She laid a comforting hand on Sam's arm as she spoke in a sweet, soft voice. And the way she explained it, so patiently, he couldn't help but accept it.

* * *

"Why am I not in heaven or hell?" He turned wide, wondering eyes upon her like a child eagerly awaiting the next part of a story. Curiosity overtook his fear of this place. How could he fear a place when he felt so safe?

"Not everyone goes directly to heaven or hell, son." Sam's attention snapped back to his father. "Those are only the extremes, but they aren't the only places spirits dwell after death. Most spirits dwell in limbo until they move on either one way or another. Only those who make the greatest sacrifices go straight to heaven," John's eyes fell upon Mary for a moment before he turned back to Sam. "And those who commit the greatest sins go straight into hell."

Sam stared at his father's downcast face for a moment while it all sank in. Then suddenly he was spinning in his seat, fully facing his mother. His mouth was working, trying to form the words his heart wanted to deny. "What?"

"Yes, Sammy. I sacrificed myself to the demon. I had to protect my boys." She ran her fingertips across his cheek as she spoke. "I need to make sure my little boy lived on."

He swallowed thickly as he nodded in acceptance. But where did he go from here? Sam pulled himself up off the couch and stood in front of the shelves of pictures, his back to his parents. A shiver ran up his spine at the thought of not seeing Dean again, but he hated the thought of leaving here. They were almost a family again, he was finally in a place where he was loved and felt safe.

John laid a hand on Sam's shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. "Take your time, Sam. There's no rush." Sam met his father's gaze over his shoulder. "You'll cross over when it's your time."

He watched as his parents walked out of the room, hand in hand, then turned back to the wall of pictures in front of him. Before him was a life he had never know, shown to him frame by frame with each picture he passed. A much younger John and Mary hugging and standing in front of the house; John leaning against the hood of the Impala with a proud smile on his face; Mary standing sideways, smiling at the camera as she held her hands over her protruding stomach. There were pictures of John holding his baby boy, and Mary gently rocking a baby Dean to sleep. Pictures of a little Dean taking his first steps, his first birthday cake, first Christmas and every other first to celebrate. Dean on a tricycle with John following nervously behind, the boys playing ball in the yard, Mary and Dean baking and gardening. All things that Sam had never gotten the chance to celebrate, moments he had never shared with the rest of his family.

Sam smiled when his gaze fell upon a picture of Mary, pregnant belly sticking out away from her. And there, standing in front of his mother, hands placed on her stomach with wide eyes and a smiling mouth, was Dean. Another picture was of Mary holding a newborn Sam. Another of Dean leaning over a crib and kissing his newborn baby brother.

The last picture on the shelf caught Sam attention. With careful hands, he picked it up and brought it closer. A young Dean sitting on the couch cradling a baby in his lap. Eyes wide with wonder stared down at his precious bundle, but he was smiling and proud. Sam could feel his heart constrict in his chest, tears prickling behind his eyes.

The constriction in his chest gave way to a gentle tugging and a warm familiar feeling. It felt like … _Dean_. Sam wanted to bring his eyes away from the picture in front of him, to look around and find out why it felt like Dean was here with him. But he couldn't pull his gaze away. He watched in amazement as the world in his peripheral faded to a dull gray while his reflection in the glass before him slowly morphed into another picture entirely.

'_Sam.'_

"Dean," he whispered. He recognized the scene now. Cold Oaks. Dean was kneeling on the muddy ground holding Sam's limp and lifeless body close to him.

'_Sam. Hey. Hey, come here. You're okay, champ. Hey. Look. Look at me.'_

"Dean," Sam drew in a deep breath, tears in his eyes. Didn't Dean know? Didn't he realize?

'_It's not even that bad. It's not even that bad, right? Sammy. Sam.'_

Sam had never heard Dean that close to panic, that close to devastation and tears before. He wanted desperately to look away, didn't want to see Dean's breakdown. But he couldn't pull away. Now that he felt Dean, he realized what spot of comfort and love had been missing this whole time.

'_Sam. Hey, listen to me.'_

'I am listening, Dean' he thought. The first tear slipping down Sam's cheek.

'_We're gonna patch you up, okay? You'll be good as new. Huh? I'm gonna take care of you. I gotcha ya.'_

Sam felt a sob slip passed his lips. 'No Dean, you can't fix me this time.'

'_It's my job, right? Watch out for my pain-in-the-ass little brother. Sam? Sam.'_

He watched as realizations slowly dawned across Dean's face. Dean pulled Sam away from him, one hand holding Sam up while the other cupped Sam's cheek, trying to keep his lulling head still.

'_Sam. Sammy! No.'_

It was the hardest thing Sam had ever watched, seeing Dean sob, pulling Sam's body back to him, rocking them both back and forth.

'_No. No, no, no. Oh, god. Oh, god. Sam!'_

"DEAN!" Sam screamed as the scene before him suddenly disappeared. The tugging in his chest was gone, leaving an empty hole behind. "No, no. Come back. Please, Dean. Come back." He didn't realize he was on his knees sobbing, clutching the picture to his chest until Mary and John came in, pulling him close and rocking him back and forth like Dean had done. Only it wasn't the comfort that Sam needed. He needed Dean.

**_To Be Continued_**

The second part should be up shortly, its already in draft form awaiting to be beta'd.

Thanks for reading and remember ... **feedback is love**, so if you wouldn't mind taking a few more minutes to leave a review, I will be forever grateful! Thanks.


	2. Chapter 2

Three Days Gone

**Three Days Gone (2/5)**

**Fandom: **Supernatural

**Characters:** Sam(-centric), John, Dean

**Rating: PG-13**

**Warning:** **Spoilers** for AHBL 1 & 2, character death

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the Winchesters, just borrowing them for the time being.

**Summary: **Time in limbo passed in an odd cadence, some moments seeming to last a lifetime while others just flit by without a second glance. Most of the time he and his father had spent under the hood had blurred by.

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**THREE DAYS GONE**

**Part Two**

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It was with shaky legs that Sam followed his father down the hall and into the garage. After talking with his parents again, the pain of leaving Dean was once again fading, healing he thought. He was once again slowly learning to accept that he couldn't reach Dean, he wouldn't see Dean again. Then his father had asked for his help with something. He was confused but his mother had stood up from the kitchen table, giving him a quiet, knowing smile before she slipped out of sight.

Now here he was, still as confused, as his father ran his hand lovingly across the hood of the Impala. His father smiled up at him as he reached in through the car's open window and popped the hood.

"Dad, what are you doing?"

"Gonna poke around under the hood, Sam." He said it so casually it was almost painful to hear. "See if she needs anything worked on."

"But, Dad-" Sam trailed off, brow knotted as he tried to work out exactly what he wanted to say. "Dad, this isn't real. The car isn't real!"

John stood up from his bent over position under the hood, pulling his hands out of the engine as he looked up at Sam, not in anger but in sadness. "Yes it is real, Sam. In your mind, this is all real. In your mind, this is something you had always wanted but something you and I never got to share."

Sam couldn't deny that. When he was growing up, just entering his teen years, he had been jealous of Dean and Dad's bond over cars. He remembered sitting, staring out the window at them for hours as they poked underneath the hood of the Impala, John teaching his oldest anything and everything about his beautiful car. By the time it was Sam's turn to learn, Dad was constantly out on hunts and Dean preferred to just drive Sam around instead of teaching him.

"Yeah, I guess" he whispered, a small smile curving up his lips.

"Plus, I miss spending time with my baby." John smirked as he picked up a wrench and bent back down under the hood. "Now that Sam, that is …"

Sam nodded along, only half listening to his father as John rambled off about the car and the parts. Their names and their functions blurring together as Sam lost himself in the comfort of his father's presence.

And for the first time in a long time, Sam looked at his Dad. _Really_ looked at him. But he didn't see the father he grew up knowing, the hardened hunter with rugged scars and premature wrinkles creasing his eyes and mouth and forehead. He saw the father Dean had known before, the smiling, happy man in all those pictures, the man his mother had married. It should have shocked him to see that in the presence of his mother, his father had reverted back to his old self. Once prominent wrinkles and scars had faded, barely noticeable. His eyes which had always been hard with a glare sharp enough to cut through steel now shone with an indiscernible light, sparkling and happy and loving in a way Sam had never seen.

And he couldn't help but smile at it.

* * *

Time in limbo passed in an odd cadence, some moments seeming to last a lifetime while others just flit by without a second glance. Most of the time he and his father had spent under the hood had blurred by. And now they were leaning back against her hood, cool beers in hand, shirt cuffs still damp from the washing they gave her. Sam stretched out his long legs in front of him, sipping tentatively at his beer, his shoulder brushing John's every time he bought the bottle to his lips. His father didn't seem to mind though. He just sat there with a small smile tugging on his lips as he started out into the distant setting sun, eyes unfocused.

It was a new place for Sam to be. There were few times in his life that he could recall just relaxing with his father, an easy, peaceful silence between them after a job well done. The times were even less when Sam and John were so comfortable in each other's presence.

"You know, Sam," John slowly pulled his gaze away from the horizon to meet his son's eyes. "I was always proud of you. You know that, right?"

Sam ducked his head, gaze dropping to the ground. He knew his father loved him, knew his father would do anything to protect him and keep him safe. But his father being proud of him? The thought had never really crossed his mind.

John's hand landed softly on the back of Sam's neck, squeezing softly. "I know I hardly ever did right by you when you were growing up. I was gone more than I was around, but I was always proud of what you had done.

"With Dean, it was easy. He remembered what happened the night your mother died, he'd seen it with his own eyes. From then on he was no longer a child. I counted on him to help me tow the line." John sighed heavily as he moved his hand back to his lap.

Sam suddenly missed its warmth. As he was about to shift closer to his father, he felt that familiar sensation rush through him again. _Dean._ It tugged and pulled softly in his chest, but stubbornly he pushed it away. He could no longer be with Dean. But he could be with his father and damned if he wasn't gonna make the best of it this time around.

"Dean learned about the evil in this world at such a young age, it was something I always regretted, but he was tough. Everyone said he was cut straight from my ass, even your mother had said so when she was alive. But you, Sammy," John turned his head again to meet his son's eyes. "You were your mother's child in and out." A wistful, watery smile broke out across his face.

"I couldn't look at you sometimes without seeing your mother staring right back at me. And that's why I needed to protect you, from everything. I had already lost her and Dean had lost his innocence. We were in this dark, dark world, and Sammy, you were the only spot of light. We had you to beat back the darkness. I just wanted you to be a kid, something Dean never really got to be after your mother died." John wiped away a stray tear off his own cheek as he wiped away one of Sam's.

"And as much as I wanted you to have a normal life, I never thought of the repercussions it was gonna have on you, up rooting you all the time. Dean, it was easy for him, he had you and me and the hunt, that's all he needed. But you," he let out another laugh laden with tears of regret. "Sam, like your mother, you made friends and excelled in school. Hated to hunt and move around. I just didn't want to accept that you wanted something different, wanted a different life."

"But didn't you ever want that for me, Dad? Didn't you want me to be happy?" Sam's voice was choked off with raw emotion. Never before had his father opened up so completely to him. The words were painfully honest but held the key to closing the rift between father and son that had existed for too long.

John gently turned Sam's face towards him as he answered, eyes bright with tears. "Of course, Sam. I had always dreamed of my children growing up and starting families of their own, living their own, happy lives. When you were born, I only wanted what was best for you." John's thumbed away the tears slipping down Sam's face. "After Mary died, I thought the key to your happiness was keeping you safe. And that meant keeping you with me, fighting off whatever I had to keep you there. Even if that meant fighting with you.

"I wanted you to be happy, Sam. But I didn't want you to leave. I didn't want you so far away that I couldn't protect you. The thought of loosing my baby boy, it was just too much." John smiled softly as Sam wiped his hands across his face and stood up from his reclined position against the car. "I never wanted us to be at such odds your entire life, Sammy."

It was a lot to take in, a lot to process. Thoughts upon thoughts, old feelings clashing with new information, old images twisting to a new view; it buzzed about his head dizzyingly fast. But the bottom line was that his Dad was just trying to take care of him. He never meant to hold him back, he was just doing what he thought was right. Sam wanted to say something, like _I'm sorry_, but in truth he wasn't. He wasn't sorry for forging his own path and going off to college. He wanted to tell his father that _it's okay, I understand_, but was it okay? So instead he settled for whispering softly, "Me too", knowing his father would catch the unsaid words.

And judging by the softening of the knot in his father's brow, they had been heard and accepted. John huffed out another laugh then, taking a sip of his beer to clear out the lump of emotions still clogging up his throat.

"And you may have thought that by moving out to California you were getting rid of me and Dean. But let me tell you kiddo, there was no where on Earth you could have gone that we wouldn't have found you." At the look of confusion in his son's eyes, he smirked. "Tell me you really didn't think Dean and I were just gonna let you go off to college and not check up on you?!" John shook his head laughing.

"Dean popped in every chance he got, didn't matter how many miles out of the way it was. I tried to stop at least once a month." He was met with silence, looking over to find Sam staring in slack-jawed amazement. "Yeah, stopped as often as I could. Stayed long enough to ensure you were safe. Happy."

Silence filled the garage for a few moments before Sam's whisper broke it. "I never knew." His brow curled in confusion and he turned to look at his father. "Why didn't you ever say anything? Why didn't you call or stop in?"

"You were doing your own thing. I knew it was important to you so I stayed clear. I just wanted to check up on you." John watched as his words soothed out the wrinkle in Sam's brow before he spoke again. "Jess was a beautiful girl."

A sudden sob welled in Sam's chest as he felt need for his brother's comfort increase it's tugging at his soul. He bit them both back, forced them away as he paced the length of the car. _Jess._ He had pushed her memory to the back of his mind for so long, had buried her so deep, the emotions too raw and too painful to ever contemplate beyond a passing thought. A tear slipped down his cheek, that much he knew, as he nodded his head.

His voice came out painfully twisted with grief as he said, "I miss her."

"I know you do, Sam. I know." John's arms were around Sam again, pulling him close.

Sam wanted to hear words of comfort, that he would get to be together with her again, but they never fell passed his father's lips. Instead, John just held him for a moment, their shared grief of losing the loves of their lives bringing the closer in death than anything else had in life. When they were both alive, Sam had avoided the subject of Jess much like his father had with Mary.

John pulled back from the embrace, one hand firmly planted on his son's shoulder as the other cupped his cheek, wiping the tears away. "You know, when your brother called me about what happened, I was scared. Scared for you, Sam. You had no other outlet for the pain and aggression you were feeling except to hunt the thing that killed her. I just didn't want to see you make the same mistakes that I had made. Dragging two innocent lives down along with me."

Sam pulled away, angrily wiping at the tears the slipped silently down his cheeks. He took two backwards steps away from his father, arms flung out to his sides in desperation. "But I did! Oh god, I did. Dean." The familiar pulling pain was back and this time he didn't have the strength to push it away. He let it ebb and flow over him, wishing it would just pull him under again.

When it didn't consume him, disappointedly Sam turned away from his father, staring at his reflection on the sleek surface of the Impala's roof. "I pulled Dean down with me. He was fine and well on his own before me. I put him in harms way constantly. I shouldn't have gone with him, should have gone my own way after Jess." His voice trailed off into a whisper as he watched his reflection swim before his eyes. He swore he saw Dean looking at him, but in the blink of an eye he was gone again.

"No, Sam. Dean never would have let you go it alone, you know that. Dean was more a father to you than a brother. Hell, he was a _better_ father to you than I was. No, Sam. You didn't pull Dean down with you. He was in-step with you the whole way." John laid a hand on Sam's shoulder.

But no reaction came from Sam other than to stare at his reflection in the black paint. He didn't blink, made no movement other than the slight squinting of his eyes. John watched as Sam's color fell away, his hands pressing firmly against the car, face set in concentration.

Sam could feel Dean again. And just like last time, it was warmth and comfort and safety despite his raging emotions. He wanted nothing more than to slip back into reality with Dean …

He watched amazed as his reflection slowly morphed into Dean's, the rest of the world tunneled out as Sam once again connected with his brother.

This time Dean was standing, leaned up against a door frame. His eyes were red, his lower lip quiver even as he spoke. _"You know, when we were little, you couldn't have been more than five, you just started asking questions."_ A small smile tugged at Dean's lips.

"_How come we didn't have a mom? Why do we always have to move around? Where'd Dad go? He'd take off for days at a time."_

Sam felt himself pull closer to his brother, like he was stepping through a doorway, and suddenly he was in the room. He couldn't move from his position next to his brother, but it was close enough. Sam could feel his brother's warmth brush against his arm, hear the soft hitch of his breath as he stared at a spot across the room Sam couldn't see. Then he was sucked back out, no longer in the room but just an observer too far away.

Dean shivered as a tear slipped down his cheek. _"I remember I begged you, 'Quit askin' Sammy. Man, you don't wanna know.' I just wanted you to be a kid. Just for a little while longer."_

Sam watched helplessly as his brother's face crumbled with a soft sob. His voice was hoarse with them as he stepped further into the room whispering.

"_Sammy. Sammy. Sam…"_

"Sam!"

He jerked quickly back to reality, the scene before him nothing more than his own ghostly reflection in the car's paint. He felt the loss of connection with Dean sharply, like a knife to the gut that had been twisted about. A sob caught in his throat as he turned half-heartedly back to his father. He knew tears were brimming in his eyes but he couldn't help it. He wanted to be with his brother.

John watched, relieved when Sam seemed to come back to himself. He was pale, much paler than when he'd first gotten to them, and it just didn't quite settle right with him. Words escaped him when he needed them most, when he needed to comfort his distraught son. So instead he put an arm around Sam's shoulder, pulling him awkwardly into a one-armed hug.

"Why don't we see what your Mom is up to?" John led Sam out of the garage, clicking off the light leaving the Impala and the latest encounter with Dean behind in the dark.

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**_To Be Continued ..._**

**A/N: **Thanks for reading. The third part will be up in a few days. And as always, feedback is love so please take the time to comment.

And a huge thanks to everyone who left a review for the previous chapter. hugs


	3. Chapter 3

Three Days Gone (3/5)

**Three Days Gone (3/5)**

**Fandom: **Supernatural

**Characters:** Sam (-centric), Mary, Dean

**Rating: PG-13**

**Warning:** **Spoilers** for AHBL 1 & 2, character death

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the Winchesters, just borrowing them for the time being.

**Summary: **_Jess._ He still remembered the questions in her eyes as he walked out the door that night with Dean. He could still feel her blood on his hands; still remember the smell as her flesh caught fire.

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**THREE DAYS GONE**

**Part Three**

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The pain in his chest, the gaping hole Dean's recent memory left, didn't abate the farther away from the garage he went. In fact, it seemed to increase. A pulsing throb that settled over his heart, so deep that it seemed nothing could cure it. Not the sight of family pictures that lined the walls, nor the finger paintings of a happy family on the refrigerator. Not even his father's warm, steady presence, a gentle hand on his back guiding him through the house and out the back door.

That's where he found his mother, quietly flitting about in her flower garden. Sunlight shimmering off her golden hair as the breeze played with the hem of her sundress, making it dance around her knees. A soft smile played around her mouth as she stood there admiring her work.

Sam felt his father's presence leave him, but he was hypnotized by his mother's movements, he just couldn't look away. He'd seen pictures of his mother growing up, the pictures Dean and his father had kept hidden away, the pictures Sam had purposefully snooped for when he was younger, hoping to put a face to the grief he always saw in his father' face. In those pictures, Mary was smiling, thin lines forming around her eyes and mouth, not from age but from life. In those pictures she was hugging his father, or holding up a much younger Dean, or in Sam's favorite, holding a tiny baby while being embraced by his father and brother.

He had always known his mother was beautiful, but here she looked more at ease. Like his father, the marks life had left upon her skin were faded. Her eyes sparkled like diamonds in the sunshine when she looked up to meet his gaze. The smile on her lips deepened, easy and inviting as she beaconed him over to where she was once again kneeling in the dirt.

Without hesitation or thought, Sam followed the small stone pathway cutting through the grass to his mother's side. He could hear her humming under her breath as he sat down in the cool grass next to her. His fingers idly toyed with the grass, plucking, twirling, tugging, his nail digging into the soil as his mother continued to hum away, planting another pansy. Slowly, Sam could feel the tension seeping out of shoulders, melting away with the easing pain in his chest. A flicker of a memory passed through his mind, dredged up from somewhere deep, and though his mind couldn't place the melody passing from his mother's lips, his body did, relaxing and calming him. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see the corner of her mouth quirk, the likeness to Dean's own trademark smirk not lost him.

"It's a lullaby, the one I used to hum to you while I rocked you to sleep every night." She turned then to look at him fully as the last of the tension seeped out of his body and he fully relaxed, eyes closed, reclining in the grass. "Used to put you out like a light. I see it still has the same effect."

Sam cracked open one eye, feeling himself smiling in response to his mother's broad smile. Now that the pain of seeing Dean again was but a distant throb, he could allow himself to enjoy his mother's presence. He never knew how much like her Dean was, with the easy smile and the ability to put him almost instantly at ease. He wanted to know more now, know everything about the mother he never knew.

And almost as if you could read his mind, she started to speak.

"You loved the garden too. I would bring you out here for hours and you were as content as ever. Just you and I sitting in the rocking chair, watching the birds. Or you sleeping on the blanket in the sun while I gardened and your brother and father got into trouble." The glint of laughter was back in her gaze as she said that.

Sam could see it too. Like a movie clip playing before his eyes he could see his mother sitting in the rocking chair, humming softly and rocking a small baby. He watched as she put the sleeping baby down on the blanket, her hands reverently running over his tiny head, placing a tiny kiss upon his forehead before she knelt in the dirt. Her fingers worked, maneuvering the dirt and the plants into a beautiful array. Farther out in the grass his father tossed a football to Dean. He laughed, then squealed as his father started to chase him around the yard. His mother just rolled her eyes, laughing playfully as she planted yet another flower.

He blinked hard and the scene was gone. But the memory of it made his heart constrict painfully. They were so happy, so _normal_. It was a side of his family he had never seen, never got to experience; a part of his life he had never known existed. Yet now that he knew, his heart ached with a longing to have it back.

"That was something you had always wanted, wasn't it Sam? A normal life, a normal family." His mother's voice startled him out of his reverie, her soft hand cupping his cheek as she knelt in front of him. "But you cannot fret over the passed. It may be hard to see it right now, but soon you will learn that this was what was supposed to happen.

"It's not fair that you had to learn about the evil in this world at such a young age. It wasn't fair that you could strip and clean a gun before you knew algebra. It wasn't fair that you moved from school to school, that you never got to be a little boy and play with friends at the park or have a birthday party or sleepovers. It wasn't fair that you never had a mother." She wiped away the single tear that slipped from his eye as she spoke. Her brow was drawn together in a frown, eyes sad and regretful, but then slowly it eased, a small knowing smile curling up the corners of her lips before she spoke again. "But you did have a small taste of normal though, didn't you?"

_Jess._ He could still see her smiling face as clear as day in his mind. The way her blue eyes danced in time with her laugh. The way her blonde curls spilled over her shoulders, how silky they felt under his fingers, they always smelled of coconut. He could still hear the way she spoke his name, with laughter, in exasperation, in ecstasy. He still remembered the questions in her eyes as he walked out the door that night with Dean. He could still feel her blood on his hands; still remember the smell as her flesh caught fire.

He shivered, shaking the memories out of his head. Instead, he turned his eyes back to his mother, trying not to replace Jess's face with hers on that ceiling. But those thoughts were banished from his mind when he met her gaze, when her fingers again stroked his cheek.

"You made your own way, without your brother, without your father, without the hunt. It was just you against the world. You and Jess against the world." His mother smiled with pride and love. "She was a beautiful girl, Sam. She really loved you; she would have loved all of you."

He nodded. He'd always known, in some small corner of his mind, that Jess would accept his secrets. It was a lot for anyone to handle, but he knew she was strong enough, smart enough, that she loved him enough to accept the truth. But self-preservation had kept him from coming clean, so afraid to loose that small piece of normal, happy, safe he had carved out for himself. Now he couldn't help wondering if that knowledge would have been able to save her.

Mary could read the questions in his eyes, it seemed, as she quickly cut off his line of thought. "No, Sam. No. Her death, in no way was your fault. She was just another part of the path for you, her death was just another turn.

"Everything happens for a reason, Sam. My death put you and your father and your brother on the path you were supposed to be on. Don't you see Sam? The universe has a way of creating a balance between good and evil. Great evil came into our house that night and tried to destroy our lives. But that destruction led your father to hunt, and he molded you and your brother into great hunters as well. That evil created three great hunters that would be its demise.

"And Jess's death? That put you back on the path, lead you back to hunting. This Sam," she ran her hands up and down his arms, before bring them up to cup his face again. "This is who you were supposed to become. A strong, smart, compassionate hunter with the ability to take down any evil."

"But we didn't defeat it. It's still out there, still hurting people!" His voice was tight with emotion, an edge of desperation showing through as he tried to get everything back under control. "And that leaves Dean alone to fight it."

Mary smiled sadly, fingers brushing away the quickly escaping tears. She pulled Sam close, his head resting on her shoulder as she rocked him back and forth slightly. The warmth of her embrace, the easy calm her presence exuded was almost enough to quell the growing panic and desperation inside him. Almost, but not quite. He tried to pull away but she held him in place with her gentle touch and her commanding eyes.

"Dean will never be alone, Sam. Just as your father was never alone. I never left his side all those years he was hunting. And your father never left your side while you and Dean carried on without him. Now Dean will carry on, and you will always be at his side.

"Each of us played a part Sam. All the trials and tribulations your father went through both before and after my death prepared him to become a great hunter. And it was his job to get you boys ready, to teach you what he knew and forge the path for you. And Dean was the protector. He was always destined to follow in his father footsteps no matter where they led and it was his job to protect you …"

All the raw emotions that bubbled to the surface had ripped open the gaping hole in his chest, the pain of leaving Dean was fresh once again. The tugging was back, insistent, begging, pleading. And Sam didn't want to resist it this time. He looked up into his mother's eyes, and reflecting back at him was Dean.

The rest of the world faded from his view, graying at the edges. And there was only Dean. Only Dean and him as Sam was pulled into the room, standing rooted at his brother's side. This time Dean was sitting in a chair, staring down at something right in front of him as he spoke. His voice was full of tears and regret.

"_I always tried to protect you. Keep you safe. Dad didn't even have to tell me. It was just always my responsibility, you know?"_

Two tears slipped down his brother's cheeks and Sam could feel his heartbreaking. He ached to reach out and hold his brother, to reassure him that whatever had happened, whatever guilt he was heaping upon himself wasn't his fault. He tried to move and this time found his arm reaching out to land on his brother's shoulder just as Dean shuttered, his hand coming up to face to wipe away the tears.

"_It's like I had one job. That one job. And I screwed it up. I blew it."_

"You didn't screw anything up, Dean. Everything is fine. It's okay now." But his words weren't heard. The way Dean was staring so brokenly, it made Sam's chest hurt.

Slowly, he turned his head and found himself staring at his own body. His dead body. Lying limply on an old, dirty mattress.

"Oh, god. Dean." Sam could feel the color draining out of him as if it were blood, running out of him faster than it could be stopped. Everything went cold around him as he finally started to understand. All these words Dean spoke; all the guilt, all the tears. It was because Sam was dead.

"No, you didn't screw up Dean. Please listen, you have to hear me! You didn't do this; you couldn't protect me from this!" But no matter how hard he yelled and screamed his words went unheard.

Dean didn't even flinch when another tear slipped passed his defenses. He just stared at Sam's cold corpse.

"_And for that, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Sammy."_

Dean's voice broke on his name and Sam reached once more for his brother, just wanting to comfort him. But he couldn't. Before his hand could reach its intended destination, he found himself back in his mother's garden.

"… but I don't think that this is the last for you and your brother, Sam. Sam." His mother's voice slowly bled into his conscious, growing louder as the white noise faded. Her face became clearer, pleading and confusion giving way to realization and desperation, as Dean's face, full of anguish and regret, slowly disappeared. "Sam!"

At his mother's frantic cry, he fully snapped back into his body, back into this new reality without his brother. Tears sprung up in his eyes as he looked deep into his mother's eyes. There was no denying the worry there, but Sam couldn't see passed the memory of his brother's tear streaked face, couldn't hear anything beyond his broken voice as he whispered un-needed apologies.

"Sammy, please you have to …"

But Mary never got to finish her statement as Sam scrambled backwards, tearing himself out of her embrace. With frantic movements, Sam stumbled to his feet and ran on shaky legs back into the house, pushing his father out of his way and ignoring his mother's panicked cries. There was only one thing on his mind now and he had to find a way back to him.

"Dean."

-

_TBC_

_-_

**A/N: **I'm sorry, I kept uploading the wrong chapter! Please forgive my mistake and sorry for the long wait. Part Four is almost complete and should be up within the week. Thanks for sticking with me!


	4. Chapter 4

**Three Days Gone (4/5)**

**Fandom: **Supernatural

**Characters:** Sam (-centric), Dean, Mary, John

**Rating: PG-13**

**Warning:** **Spoilers** for AHBL 1 & 2, character death

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the Winchesters, just borrowing them for the time being.

**Summary: **_Jesus Christ, I'm alone again / So what did you do those three days you were dead?_ This chapter: "I don't know Dean! What am I supposed to do?!" He sobbed hard as he grabbed his brother's arms tight in his own. "I can't be without you; I need to come back to you Dean. I swear; I'll find away…"

--

**THREE DAYS GONE**

**Part Four**

--

"_Sammy, please you have to …"_

_But Mary never got to finish her statement as Sam scrambled backwards, tearing himself out of her embrace. With frantic movements, Sam stumbled to his feet and ran on shaky legs back into the house, pushing his father out of his way and ignoring his mother's panicked cries. There was only one thing on his mind now and he had to find a way back to him._

"_Dean."_

"Dean." He ran frantically through the house, hands skimming over surfaces, eyes darting around from room to room. Searching, ever searching. Sam could feel him, so near yet too too far away. The tugging and pulling in his chest was growing angrier and more insistent the longer he was apart from Dean.

The pain grew sharper with each mark he passed left by Dean, pictures, paintings, toys, even the child's sized cereal bowl in the sink. It all held a small part of Dean that egged him on, pushed him further, drove him mad with need. He dashed out of the kitchen, into the living room, his hands hovering and flitting over each picture, waiting for the inevitable push and pull that would lead him to Dean. But it never happened.

"Please! Help me. Tell me how to find you!" he begged, close to sobs of desperation. The loneliness was near unbearable. "Please Dean, I need you" he whispered as he slid down to his knees.

That's when he felt it. A tug sharper than all the others pulling him forward. Helpless to resist, Sam scrambled on his hands and knees to the foot of the stairs where he hauled himself upright. The pain increased with each step he took, a blessed pain that told him he would be reunited with Dean once again. He just needed to keep moving on, to find that one thing that would lead him to his brother.

He stumbled blindly down the hallway, unfamiliar doors staring back at him as he ran his hands over them questioningly. He found his answering tug at the blue door at the end of the hall, a small wooden sign hanging there with cheery blocked letters spelling out "Sammy". Without thought of hesitation, he flung open the door and stepped over the threshold.

It was like getting bombarded, a snowball effect. Thousands of thoughts and emotions crashed and collided with him all at once. Love, pain, sorrow, regret, anger, desperation, anguish, concern, fear. Everything Dean was feeling, everything Sam was feeling, everything Mary and John were feeling culminated into one, bringing Sam gasping to his knees beside his crib. His hands clutched the wooden bars as he tried to get the roiling emotions under control, to focus on the tugging of Dean on his subconscious, to follow it and finally find his brother.

And then he saw it. Felt it a moment after. A well worn baby blanket, soft as lamb's wool with tattered silk ribbon edging in hues of blues and greens. One corner of the blanket stitched with delicate script letters spelling out "Dean". In Sam's crib.

A brother's sacrifice.

Sam sobbed as he pulled the blanket through the slatted opening in the side of the crib. He clutched it to his chest, nose buried in the fabric as he felt the tugging finally snap and he was surrounded by _Dean_, his smell, his voice, his touch. It was all there, wrapping Sam in a safe, warm cocoon. He finally felt at peace.

With tears still streaming, Sam closed his eyes and relaxed. Focused on the essence of Dean around him, he could easily conjure up the last image Sam had seen of his brother, sitting next to Sam's deathbed, eyes brokenly staring at Sam's corpse. He could hear him speaking even as the air around him changed from warm and safe to chilled and unstable. The scrap of chair legs against a wooden floor startled Sam's eyes open and he found himself staring at Dean, the bed with Sam's body the only thing between them.

"Dean," Sam whispered as he slowly made his way around the bed, trying to ignore the sight of his body.

Dean was standing now, hands fisting around the top of the chair, knuckles white from the iron-grip. His shoulders were bowed, his head hung low as he fought to keep his breathing under control. Sam recognized it for what it was, Dean trying to hold back the tears, hold back his emotions and not let them get the best of him.

"_I guess that's what I do. I let down the people I love."_

The whispered words were so quiet, Dean's lips barely moving as he spoke, that for a moment Sam thought he misheard. But when Dean raised his head, eyes miserable and brimming with tears, a line of defeat crossing between his brows, Sam knew he heard right.

"No Dean. No. You haven't let anyone down!" Sam tried to reach out for Dean but he was too late. Dean let go of the chair and stepped around it so his knees were pressing into the mattress. And he stood stock still for a moment, hovering before he sat heavily, the chair creaking under the sudden weight.

"_You know, I let dad down."_

"No! Dad's proud of you, he's proud of both of us!" Sam fell to his knees at his brother's feet, hands plaintively gripping Dean's knees as he begged to be heard. "We never let him down, Dean. He's so proud. He told me so! You didn't let us down!"

But Sam's cries and pleas went unheard as Dean continued to speak.

"_And now, I guess I'm just supposed to let you down too?"_ He paused and wiped away a tear before scrubbing a hand over his face and through his hair. _"How can I?"_

Then Dean was moving again, jumping up so fast Sam tumbled back onto his butt. The chair skidded backwards and inch or so and Dean began to pace the short length of the bed. "Please Dean, hear me!" Sam pleaded as he got to his feet, stepping in his brother's path but Dean passed right through him. For a moment he stopped and shuddered before his eyes swept over to the body on the bed. The sorrow in his eyes deepened before he continued his circuit.

"_How am I supposed to live with that? What am I supposed to do?"_ Dean stopped again, this time at the head of the bed, staring down at Sam's grey, lifeless face. Another tear fell, this time landing upon Sam's cheek. _"Sammy, god. What am I supposed to do?"_

Sam could feel his own tears cascading down his cheeks now at his brother's plaintive voice. "I don't know Dean! What am I supposed to do?!" He sobbed hard as he grabbed his brother's arms tight in his own. "I can't be without you; I need to come back to you Dean. I swear; I'll find away. Please. Please Dean. Please don't give up. I'll come back, I'll find a way. I promise. Please Dean. Please."

But Dean just lashed out, foot colliding with the chair leg sending it smashing into the wall as he screamed out all his anger and pain._ "WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO?!"_ His shoulder's sagged for a moment before his eyes took on a determined edge. Dean ran his hand lovingly, gently over Sam's forehead, brushing away the hair as he whispered, _"I promise Sam, I'm gonna save you."_

Then he strode out of the room, grabbing his jacket off the table before he was out the door, letting it slam shut behind him.

Sam flinched at the loud bang, finally shaken from his shock. He'd never seen Dean so angry before, so desperate and determined. Dean was gonna save him? That thought sparked fear so real and deep in Sam that he was across the room in two strides, but before he could make a third he heard the Impala's engine roar to life and fade quickly into the distance. "No Dean. What have you done?!"

Then the connection was severed.

--

Sam was still screaming at Dean when he snapped back into himself, kneeling on the floor of his nursery clutching his, Dean's, baby blanket against his chest. His cheeks were wet with tears, his voice hoarse, his whole body shaking with the force of his sobs. Two sets of hands held him, rocking him, consoling him. Two sets of voice pleaded with him, murmured their love and concern. But they weren't the ones that Sam wanted, needed. He curled further into himself and sobbed Dean's name.

"Sam, please. Come back to us." His mother's voice, soft like a lullaby but as commanding as a general. Her hands brushed his cheeks, pushing the tears aside as she tried in vain to raise his head up.

"Please Sammy; don't keep doing this to yourself. Stay with us." His father's voice was calm and soothing like river but just as strong and willful. His large, callused hands rubbed Sam's back, ran up and down his arms. A stubbly cheek rested against Sam's own as he was pulled into a hug, his head coming to rest against his father's chest. "Shhh, Sammy. Easy now. You can't be with Dean anymore. This is where you need to be, where you need to stay."

"No," Sam whispered quietly. But despite himself he could feel his body starting to relax and briefly wondered if his mother was humming that elusive lullaby again. It was nice as the pain and tugging in his chest started to recede, but then he remembered Dean's face, his pleading voice, his anguished cry before he fled the house with a promise to save him. He pulled back abruptly from his father's embrace, fought off their hands as they scrambled to get a hold on him again. "NO!"

He stumbled to his feet, back to the wall was they cautiously rose to their feet in front of him. He could only imagine the sight he was making to put that complex look of love, fear, and concern in his parents' eyes. But he wasn't about to back down. He held out his arms in front of him, warding them off, baby blanket still clutched tightly in one hand. "No, I can't stay here. I need to get back to Dean. He needs me." His voice was tight with emotion as he spoke, a new wave of tears threatening.

"You can't Sam; you can't go back to him. You don't belong there anymore." His mother stepped forward, trying to calm him with her words and pleading eyes.

"No!"

"Sammy." His eyes darted to his father to see plain worry in his eyes. "Can't you see what you are doing to yourself? What you are doing to Dean?" He stepped aside, his body unrevealing a mirror that it had previously concealed.

And as much as he wanted to, Sam couldn't look away. His gaze was fixed upon his reflection. While everything else in the room was vibrant, the walls blue, the carpet a soft beige, red, yellow and blue airplanes hanging from the wall, Sam was near transparent. Instead of a healthy tan with hazel eyes, the person staring back at him was nothing more than dull grays and browns, his skin sickly pale, his eyes flat. He was fading.

Shocked eyes met his father's, all the questions his lips couldn't form were asked with a simple frown. John sighed heavily and stepped over next to Sam laying his hands on Sam shoulder and meeting his gaze in the mirror. What shocked Sam even more was how … solid and vibrant, how healthy and … _alive_ he looked compared to Sam.

"Where do you think malevolent spirits are born, Sam?" His gaze penetrated Sam's as he spoke and Sam knew instantly he was seeing, speaking with the hunter side of his father he had know all his life. And strangely enough, it comforted Sam more than any other version he had see yet in his limbo.

"Not all of them are evil and bent of revenge, Sammy. They are just people who held onto something, or someone, so strongly in life that they couldn't let go in death. And when they found an outlet into the world of the living," John motioned to the blanket Sam was still cradling in his arms, "they took it and never looked back, never thought of the consequences."

Sam swallowed convulsively, trying to clear the lump of emotion. He could no longer feel Dean's presence, they were completely cut off from each other, but he could still feel the pain of losing him, still felt the need to get back to  
Dean some way, some how. "But I can't leave him, Dad. He needs me." His voice pleaded with his father to understand.

"You're presence is hurting more than it is helping Dean. I know its hard Sammy, but Dean will move on and so will you. It is all that we can do now. We have no other choice." Mary stepped over to Sam's other side and wrapped her arms around him, looking deep into his eyes through the mirror. "Please my love, let Dean go."

"Don't make this harder for Dean than it has to be, Sammy. Don't make your brother have to salt and burn your corpse after all he's been through." John's hand squeezed Sam's shoulder and he could read his father's unspoken message, _Don't become what we've hunted_.

Sam's lip quivered, his eyes brimming with tears as he nodded. He took a deep breath, nostrils flaring as he tried to keep the tears at bay, then he stepped over to the crib. He looked down at the baby blanket in his hands, ran his fingers over Dean's name lovingly. "I'm so sorry Dean," then Sam gently placed the blanket back in the crib and slowly back away.

The air crackled to life then, a sudden energy filling the room. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and his body instinctively crouched lower into a fighting stance, his hands reaching for a weapon before he even spun around. He knew the feeling all too well. A demon was here.

From behind him, Sam could almost feel his father stiffen, heard the shuffle of clothing as John no doubt put himself between Mary and the danger. Then he heard his father's voice, "No! You cannot have him!"

Then all was silent.

Sam's eyes widened as he spun around and came face to face with both of his parents. When they blinked their eyes shown deep red, wickedly evil smirks unnaturally curving up their lips into twin smiles of satisfaction.

"Today is your lucky day, Sammy Winchester." Then their hands landed on his chest, pain lancing through him. His back arched, his lips parted in an anguished scream as he tried to break free of their hold.

His vision dimmed and images flashed before his mind, at first slow then speeding up into a blur. His mother and father holding him when he first woke up. His father and him leaning back against the Impala. Mary kneeling in the garden. Family photos, his father smiling with pride, his mother confessing her love. Dean. Dean's tears and his pain as he wept over Sam's body. Jake. The white hot pain of being stabbed. It all spiraled and mingled in his mind, images shuffling behind his eyes until he was dizzy with pain and the swirling technicolor shown. Then everything went black.

--

It starts and ends with a brief flash of color and light behind his eyes and a burning pain that quickly faded into the darkest black of oblivion. And for a while he knew nothing, felt nothing, thought nothing. He was nothing.

Then slowly, bit by bit, it came crawling back. It started with a chill that spread from his toes all the way up to the top of his head. Broken sounds of creaking wood, a soft rumbling engine in the distance, the wind rattling skeleton trees outside the windows. Bits of color speckled the inside of his eyelids, floating and drifting about. He felt his body slowly relax into the lumpy mattress beneath him. And though he was far from comfortable, he was so tired, too tired to move. So he kept his eyes closed and focused on the nothingness of his mind.

But his reprieve was short lived as a blinding pain bit into his back, making him gasp. His eyes flew open, searching for a spot of comfort in the obviously ramshackle cabin. Why was he in so much pain? He wanted to move, to get up and figure out exactly where he was, but the simple act of craning his neck to the side caused a five alarm fire to race up and down his spine while another fire ignited in his shoulder, jolting lightning bolts of pain down his arm. His head throbbed in time with his too quick heartbeat. Getting up was most certainly out of the question.

With a sigh he closed his eyes and tried to focus on anything else but the pain, counting backwards and breathing through it like his father had taught him to do. And slowly the white hot edges faded to a tolerable level, at least for him. And slowly the spots of color behind his closed eyelids began to form pictures, snapshots of a distant scene, blur and indistinct, but they gave him a sense of calm. An older woman and man embracing, soothing hands and comforting words in moments of pain and despair, a beautiful garden, a car's engine.

Mom and Dad, his mind realized belatedly. His mother and father had been with him. He smiled at the warmth and comfort their memory bought him. And for a few short minutes he basked in it, the way his mother's voice sounded as she spoke softly to him, a hint of laughter in her eyes, the way his father smiled proudly at him and hugged him tight. It was vivid and more real than any other memory floating through his mind. Then it hit him like a rock in the gut …

Jake. Cold Oaks. Ava. Andy. The demon. The images snapped one after the other through his mind. Lily hanging limp from the windmill. Andy's chest clawed open. The yellow glint in Ava's eyes and she conjured up the demon. The resounding crack her neck made as it broke. The look in Jake's eyes as he fought with Sam. White hot pain before he slipped into comforting arms. _Dean!_

Despite the pain that sung throughout his body, Sam bolted upright, a cry escaping from his lips. The comfort of his mother and father faded to nothingness as he pulled himself up from the bed and stood on shaky limbs. "Dean!"

That's when he heard it. The rumble of an old engine, the squeak of door hinges, the soft thud of boots on a wooden floor. Then the door in front of Sam opened and a haggard, red eyed Dean walked through. His face was pale and drawn, days of old stubble lined his jaw. His eyes widen at the sight of Sam, chapped lips falling open, uttered words falling flat.

Sam stood frozen opposite Dean, taking in every detail, mind working desperately trying to fill in the blanks. He took a deep breath to speak but his vision wavered and before he knew what was happening, Dean was across the room, arms wrapped around his waist as he lowered him to sit on the bed.

"Whoa, easy there Sammy," he murmured in Sam's ear. He was about to pull away when Sam's arms wrapped around his neck. A wet warmth started spreading over his shoulder and Dean realized, with hitching breath, that Sam was crying. "Hey, easy. Easy there kiddo."

Sam nodded his head against Dean's shoulder, knowing he should pull away and let his brother breath, but he just couldn't. Not yet. There was a feeling of deep loss in the back of his mind. Like he had lost Dean and fought desperately to get back. A feeling of guilt and regret when he couldn't get back to his brother's side. It didn't make any sense because his brother was right here in front of him, but the grief was still too near for him to be rational. So he held on a little tighter.

"I couldn't- I couldn't find you. I couldn't get to you. I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry." Sam sobbed into his brother shoulder, hands fisting in the leather.

"Easy Sammy. You didn't go anywhere. You're right here, with me." Sam couldn't help but notice how Dean's voice broke, how it was tight with raw emotion. "We're okay, kiddo. We're gonna be okay. You're safe now, I've got you. You aren't going anywhere as long as I'm around."

Sam nodded. He was finally safe, he was _home_, and all would be okay.

--

_TBC or The End?_

You may choose to stop reading here, or I have one more part up my sleeve which will hopefully be posted shortly. It's up to you. Either way, I hope you enjoy(ed) and remember that feedback is love, so spread it around!

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**A/N:** I don't think I ever said this before but the premise of this story, as well as the title, was inspired by Brand New's "Jesus Christ".

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